


Swindlers and Son: The Quest for the Stolen Cargo

by willawips



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willawips/pseuds/willawips
Summary: A ragtag trio of bounty hunters sets off on a quest for riches.
Kudos: 1





	1. Episode One: The Alliance

In the port town of Aris, in the country of Sarkine, a ship master has put out a call for bounty hunters. 

Aris is a midsized bustling town with a harbor protected by enormous sandbars. Warehouses line the waterfront, houses and businesses stacked up behind them, wooden piers extended before them. A few piers are made of stone, built and owned by wealthier merchants who defy hurricanes. 

The ship master in question, Jorjan Bartos, stands on a barrel on Pier 42. A small crowd has gathered around him: Terasian pirates, Sarkinians of various tribes, men and women of different ages. All of them have that greedy glint in their eyes and those hard edges to their faces that mark seasoned bounty hunters. 

Over the crash of the waves, the cries of the gulls, the murmuring of the crowd, sailors on other ships calling to each other, Bartos projects his voice. He cuts through the noise with practiced ease and clarity, the voice of a man used to combating high seas and high winds and winning. 

“Four days ago, my ship docked in this town. Three days ago, my cargo was stolen. Today, I am prepared to offer a hundred terons to any person who can bring my cargo back.” 

A tough-looking man with tattoos on his face raises a hand. “What if more than one person works together to bring the cargo back?” 

Bartos doesn’t blink. “A hundred terons per person, then.” 

The crowd murmurs excitedly. A skinny woman with a crossbow on her back nudges her companion. “Let’s get someone else to help us. We’ll cover more ground.” 

Again Bartos raises his voice, and the crowd quiets to hear him. “I’ve heard rumor the thieves took my cargo inland, toward Rizawa. Don’t know if it’s true, but seems a fair tip for all of you.”

“What’s the cargo?” the tattooed man calls.

Bartos pauses only a moment before he says, “It’s live and it’ll have my mark on it, Aesculapian Shipping and Freight.” He holds up a small banner displaying an emblem of a sea snake coiled like a whirlpool with a tiny ship balanced in front of its open mouth. The bounty hunters are quiet, studying it. 

“May the keenest hunter win the prize!” Bartos shouts, and steps off his barrel. 

A skinny, rat-faced man in the crowd, a man named Morty, pats at his greasy mustache. “Does this live cargo have to stay _live_?” When Bartos doesn’t seem to hear him, he bellows, “OI. CAN WE KILL IT?” 

To those standing around him, he adds, “Does it seem like he’s ignoring me?” 

Bartos glares at him. “If it’s dead, you get nothing.” 

Morty pats his mustache, smiling inanely. 

A woman with a birthmark covering nearly half her face scans the crowd for someone to team up with. Someone other than the unpleasant greasy man. Morty tries to catch anyone’s gaze, grinning nastily. Another woman edges away from him in disgust. 

Her movement catches Hasihna’s eye. Then Hasihna sees the woman’s six beautiful daggers. “Hey, you,” Hasihna says. “What’s your name?” 

The younger woman shoots her an odd look. “Why?” 

“There’s a whole lot of muscle here, so teaming up seems to be the way to go. You look capable. And—” nodding toward her daggers, “—you’ve got good taste.” 

The other raises an eyebrow. “So do you, apparently. I’m Emilija. You?” 

“Hasihna. You’re not from Sarkine, then?” 

Morty saunters over. “If you’re looking for backstory, babes, I’ve got one for you. Sablinian. But let’s look towards the future. You, me, my transportation. Money. Money? Yes, money. The fruit of all labors. Not that I like to labor. Thievery is a gentlemen’s business. Now what do you say, ladies?” He waggles his thick eyebrows. 

“Ew,” Emilija says. “And no, I’m not from Sarkine.” 

Hasihna crosses her arms and leans back on her heels, surveying the intruder with a quick sideways glance before dismissing him and returning to the conversation. “Figured. The accent and all.” 

Morty pats his greasy mustache. 

“Yeah, I haven’t been able to get rid of that.” Emilija pointedly moves further away from the intruder. “What about you? Where are you from?” 

“Here, Sarkine. More north, though. Not that it matters much, in this line of work. And you? I’m thinking Quenten based on the accent, but I’ve never been the best with those.” 

Morty tries to get in between the two, but the crowd pushes him away. 

Emilija shrugs. “Oh, here and there. I’ve never been one to settle in one place.” 

Hasihna squints at her for a moment, and then shrugs. “Fair enough. Let’s say you and I make a go of this bounty? Two cover more ground than one. And whatever it is, it’s live. I’d rather not wrangle something back myself if I can help it. Last time I did that, I walked away with some nasty bites.” 

“Works for me. What do you think the cargo is, anyway?” 

Morty struggles forward. “Damn giants! I’ll gut you like a fish!”

Emilija leans over to Hasihna. “Who, exactly, is he talking to?”

“With those types, it’s hard to tell. And honestly—” veering back to Emilija’s first question, “—I’m thinking faery. Slippery bugs, those ones.” 

Morty meets their eyes, turning lecherous. He pats his mustache. “The ears aren’t the only surprises I pack, ladies.” 

“Again,” Emilija says. “Ew.” 

“Same here.” Hasihna casually unsheathes one of her daggers and taps it against her leg. “Do you mind? We’re in the middle of a—” She pauses and emphasizes her word, “— _con-ver-sa-tion._ ” 

Emilija narrows her eyes at him. “Translation: get lost.” 

Morty looks down at her leg. “I don’t mind.” He looks up at Emilija. “The only lost I’m getting is in your eyes.” He crosses his arms. “Once again, my beauts and babies, I got transportation. I know what this cargo is and I know it won’t be easy to transport. You want to go on foot?” 

Emilija looks at Hasihna, then at him. “You know what the cargo is?” 

Hasihna narrows her eyes. “Do tell.” 

“What am I, a Swift clannite? Do I look free to you?” Morty moves to pat his mustache, stops short. 

Hasihna turns back to Emilija. “I’d bet you my last coin he’s lying.” 

“You ain’t got many coins, do ya, sweet?” Morty says. 

“And I wouldn’t even take that bet. Because he’s definitely lying.” Emilija nods to Hasihna. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“We could all be lying. In bed. At a coastal hotel, twelve miles from here.” 

The women both look disgusted. 

“But go ahead. Walk. See how far ya get. I’ll be eating while you fight your way outta the slums, sisters. Be my guest!” 

“I haven’t heard anything worth my while. Emilija, let’s leave before I lose my manners and have to clean my dagger.”

“Honestly, do you ever think about anything except…that?” Emilija shakes her head in disgust. “Listen. If you don’t give us something good in the next ten seconds, I’ll let Hasihna loose on you.” She gives Morty a pointed look. “Last chance.” 

Morty pats his mustache. “How about this. A guy owes me a favor. It’s called ‘Murder.’ It ain’t selective. Let’s talk about something else. A guy owes me another favor. It’s called ‘Money.’ It’s very selective. And let’s consider something else: ever consider that all these sons of harlots want the same thing we do? Hmm? I’ve got connections. I’ve got an entire route from here to Quenten. I got favors and secrets and a helluva good nose. Even if you don’t want me, you certainly don’t want any of these other fools following. And they will follow. Say you can take care of yourself. That’s good, that’s great, I’ll be sure you meet my friend, Murder. He’s a slippery fish, to be sure. Some say he lives in shadows. You don’t need me, yeah? I don’t need you.” 

He pauses for breath. “But there’s a thing called competition, and it’d be a shame for all of us beauts to miss out on a good bounty just because of a couple of bruised egos.” 

Hasihna inhales through her nose. “What is that? A threat?” 

Morty begins walking away. “Ain’t so. Reality, baby. Too bad, so sad, I even had a contact to introduce ya to. Rizawa ain’t a great place for humans. There’s a brigand’s band there. Magic, they say.” 

After a brief moment, Hasihna hisses to Emilija, “If he tries anything, I can always gut him. What do you think?” 

“I think we should ask him what exactly he wants from us,” Emilija murmurs back. “But otherwise, yeah. We can easily overpower him.” 

“All right,” Hasihna says to Morty, her chin up. “Say we do pair up. What do you want from us?” 

Morty waggles his eyebrows. “You look capable. And tall. And I’m a bleeding heart, baby. It bleeds for the ladies.” 

“So,” Emilija says, “let’s get this straight. You just want us along for the protection? And you’ll provide the information and transport to where we need to go?” 

He opens his arms. “I’m open to other things. You giving? I’ll receive.” 

“I’ve got a knife point that you can receive just fine,” Hasihna says dryly. 

“And I know just where your dead body will be received if you don’t. Stop. Flirting.” Emilija glares. 

“Flirting? _Flirting?!_ I’m just talking nice. It’s called manners.” 

“Maybe it’s the sea air muddling you up, but in Sarkine, manners go a little differently. But,” and Hasihna sighs and rolls her eyes a little in an effort to calm herself, “I’ll give them a pass if you can tell us something useful. Like a destination. Or the cargo.” 

“What, so you can ditch me? I don’t think so, sister. You don’t know squat without me. We can take this slow, yeah?” 

Emilija rolls her eyes and turns to Hasihna. “What do you say? Should we go?” 

Hasihna points her dagger at Morty and then sheaths it once more. “If you touch me, I bleed you. But by all means, lead on.” 

Morty pats his mustache. “I believe this is a start of a bountiful friendship.”

Emilija groans.


	2. Episode Two: The Sand Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Yugi, a brat (who was supposed to be a one-off character but the DM got shanghied and this is why we can't have nice things).  
> Alternatively: In which the players' petition to adopt an NPC succeeds for the first and only time.

The inn is bustling as much as the streets in the morning. Map sellers are peddling their wares, eyes bright with the hope of profit, purses jingling with the money of bounty hunters who don’t know where Rizawa is.

The trio meets in the inn’s courtyard, by a tiny little fountain designed to proclaim the inn’s wealth and reputability. Its muddy waters mostly proclaim its favored use as a de facto horse trough.

Small boys point travelers to the town’s gates, where caravans form for travel. A sand mage stands in a tiny circle of clear space, spinning a miniature dust devil in his hands and hawking his services as a guide for those who don’t want to join a caravan. Several bounty hunters are heckling him, asking if he can’t produce anything bigger.

“What a beautiful day to slit a throat!” Morty stretches, short limbs coming barely above his head. “Time for breakfast, I think.”

“Time to leave,” says Hasihna. “We can eat on the road. We don’t want to fall behind.”

Emilija nods, but says nothing. She’s not a morning person.

Morty’s lips turn down and he acquiesces with a bad attitude. “So,” he says, patting his mustache, “what say you, ladies? I’ve got contacts, it’s true, but that may take another day. How shall we mosey on down to Rizawa? Map, caravan, or hire a sand mage?”

“I say we stay away from other people.” Emilija yawns. “We don’t know who else is going after this bounty. I vote we get directions and leave on our own.”

“Map it is! Who wants to pay for it?”

She shoots him a dirty look. “I don’t suppose you’re volunteering.”

He pats his mustache, considering. “Chaos take it, baby. For a gal like you? I’d pay for the moon.” He leers at her and then swaggers off to buy a map from a local vendor.

“I’m going to punch the mustache right off his face sometime,” says Hasihna stonily, watching him go with narrowed eyes.

“Not if I do it first.”

“At least he’s buying the map.” Hasihna turns to Emilija. “Are you opposed to a sand mage?”

Morty returns with not only a map but also two glasses of coffee. “For my queens.”

Emilija acknowledges him with a sneer, and turns back to Hasihna. “Why? Do you think we’ll need one?”

He mocks hurt. “It’s a delicacy, sweet thing. Much like you.”

Hasihna shrugs and accepts a coffee from Morty with a faint smile. “Dunno. Might be handy. We don’t know what to expect.”

Emilija gingerly accepts the other coffee, peering into it suspiciously. “When you put it like that, I’m not opposed. Let’s be careful who we pick, though.”

“Pick what?” Morty asks.

“A sand mage. For the journey.”

“Any objections?” Hasihna inquires.

Morty throws his hands in the air. “So I bought that map for fools and laughs?” He rubs his brow. “Next time we decide to waste money, it’s your turn.” After a moment, he adds, “But other than that, no.”

“It’s not a waste,” Hasihna tells him. “I’m not thinking of a mage for the directions.”

“It’s always good to have a backup,” Emilija agrees. She turns to Hasihna. “Were you thinking of one for any particular reason?”

“Maps can be…deceiving. Guides tend to know more practical things. Like dangers and short cuts. And a little magic could come in handy.” She shrugs. “You never know.”

Morty grumbles something about his presence being “magic enough,” but concedes her point.

“I’m going to strangle him,” Emilija mutters into her coffee.

“It’s decided then?” Hasihna asks them. “A sand mage?”

Morty throws his hands up, but nods. Emilija nods too.

“How are we splitting the funds, ladies?” Morty asks. “No doubt a magical gift is bound to be expensive.”

“Depends,” Hasihna says. “Are your funds as limited as your charms?”

Morty frowns. “Ouch.”

“We should split it evenly three ways,” Emilija says. “That seems simplest. Agreed?”

Hasihna stretches. “Sounds fair.”

“Fine.” Morty looks around. “Which one do you want?”

Hasihna blinks. “Which what?”

“Sand mage, beautiful.”

“I only see the one.”

“But look, there’s other bounty hunters all around him.” Emilija frowns. “We should see if we can find someone else.” She looks at Morty. “You wouldn’t happen to know where to look, would you?”

Morty grins with his gap-tooth smile. “Right this way.”

He leads them to an alley where a young boy is sitting, throwing a ball against the wall. “Yugi, time’s up. Sand mage, the new one.”

The boy catches the ball again and eyes the group sideways. “What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t give you a smack. How’s that for payment?”

He tosses the ball again. “New one could be anywhere. He’s got a room rented, but he’s never there.”

Morty groans, then cuts himself off. “How about this,” he says, rather nastily. He throws a copper coin at the kid. “You get two more of these, I get the information, and we shelve my other offer. I smack you.”

“You saying we shelve the smacking or is that still on the camel’s back?”

To Emilija, Hasihna says softly, “I like this kid.”

“He’s certainly got guts,” Emilija agrees.

“I’m saying you either get these other two coins  _ and  _ a smack, or just a smack. Your choice.”

The boy scrambles up, spits in the dirt between Morty’s feet, and sketches a quick bow at Emilija and Hasihna. “For two coppers and the sake of these women who are cursed by your ancestors’ mistakes.”

Morty waves his hands at him, making an “oh big deal” sound. He then smiles at ladies. “Kids, amiright?”

“No, I actually do feel cursed by your presence,” Emilija remarks. “If you smack him, I’ll smack you harder.”

“A fair deal, I think,” Hasihna says gravely.

Morty leans against the wall in what he thinks is a sexy manners. He looks more like he’s fainting from smoke inhalation. His brows droop. “Promise?”

“I’m going to murder him,” Emilija announces to the general area. “Who wants to help me hide the body?”

Hasihna curls her lip and turns to Yugi, deliberately avoiding looking at the greasy little weasel leaning against the wall. “Two copper coins, we murder this one, and you tell us about that sand mage.”

“Four coppers and I fetch him for you?”

“Two. And no smack. You’ve already got one coin.”

He nods at Morty. “You’ll still murder him?”

“Absolutely.”

Morty turns to Yugi. “Two silver. Don’t listen to them. You’re  _ my  _ second cousin thrice removed.”

“Please,” Yugi says, looking pained. “I try to forget that.”

“We’ll let you rob him before we bury him,” Emilija says.

“Family is overrated anyway,” Hasihna adds.

Morty sighs loudly. “Two silver, no smack. Now go get ‘em, will ya?”

Yugi lights up. “I’ll take the silvers off your body. I can tell you where to find him, what his favorite wine is, and--” He squints up at the sun, “--that he’s not terribly drunk yet and can still detect water through the sand. He can spin sand till he collapses, though, so don’t worry.”

“How well does the drunken sand mage do off the bottle, though?” Hasihna asks dubiously.

Yugi shrugs. “Never seen him off it.”

Morty flicks the silver at him. “Ahaha! What a joker. Here. Just because you’re family. Now git.”

Yugi catches it, smiling wolfishly. “I get a second one when I find him.” He darts off down the alley.

“Why on your mother’s grave would you offer him two silvers?” Hasihna says acidly, still not turning to look back at Morty. “He would have done it for copper. The silver is on you.” 

Forty-five minutes later, Yugi struggles back down the alley. Draped across his shoulder is a bearded man. His beard is wet, his gait staggers, and his voice echoes down the alley. “ _ Adventure!  _ Adventure, m’boy!” He hiccups.

“There’s...no wine...in the desert,” Yugi grunts.

The mage frowns and stumbles to a halt, his weight forcing Yugi to halt also. “Then what’s the point? Do we venture for vinegar?  _ No. _ ”

Morty strides forward, smiling and shoving Yugi away. The mage tilts into a wall as Morty says, “Babe. Darling. Sandy dear. I’ve got a job for you.”

“SaNDY?” He staggers nearly upright and looks down his nose at Morty’s left. “I am Mahin Nanash--” he hiccups again, “--Nanashi. You will addresh me properly, shir.”

“Mashugana. Gesundhwit. Whatever.”

“Oh by the graves…” Hasihna pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “The man can’t even stand.”

Mahin looks affronted. “I can indeed, young ladies!” He pushes away from the wall and wobbles upright for all of seven seconds before sagging again. “Hey, see any good wine shops? It’s hot out.”

“Well, it was a good effort,” Emilija notes.

“You asked for the new mage,” Yugi mutters.

Morty yanks Yugi by the collar, dragging him away from Mahin. “Shut up,” he hisses.

“I delivered the new mage! You owe me a silver,  _ cousin _ !”

Mahin smiles vaguely. “Ah, so you’re buying?”

Morty smiles as pleasantly as he can, kid still in his grip. “That we are, sandy dear, that we are.”

“Good, good. I’ll take two jugs of wine, good man. And a basket of figs!”

“How well do you know this mage?” Emilija asks Morty.

Mahin slides gently down to the ground, mouth sagging slightly open. 

Morty shrugs, though not confidently. “Couple of drinks and sand mounds.” He stares at Mahin.

Yugi snickers. “Have fun crossing the desert. Hope he knows how to make a tunnel.” He flips his coin in the air and catches it. “They’re hard, too.”

Hasihna tilts her head. “And you would know because…?”

Yugi freezes. “I-I listen to...gossip. People pay for gossip.”

“Mmhmm.” She folds her arms, unconvinced.

He smiles winningly at Morty. “So, second coin?”

“Sounds like you know more than you’re letting on.” Emilija raises an eyebrow. “I think maybe you’d be more help than this old drunk.”

Yugi laughs uneasily. “No, no, he has loads of experience! He talks about it all the time! He fought a dragon once, single-handed!”

“I’m sure he did,” says Hasihna smoothly. “But you should know, we’re looking for a good sand mage. One who can stand. And one who can help us find a very important bounty.” She pulls a silver coin from a bag at her waist and rolls it through her fingers, watching the boy carefully. “Of course, they’ll be paid. Well.”

Yugi hesitates. He looks at Morty. “How well? I mean, I’m not saying I know a good mage! I’m just asking about payment!”

Morty sighs in a put-upon fashion, pressing the silver coin down on Yugi’s forehead. “Well enough for a piglet. These ladies are pretty, but they’re not stupid. Come on, before I smack you.”

Yugi leans back and snatches the coin. “Listen, hyena pup, I need specifics if I’m going to find you a mage. How much is well enough for a piglet and, uh, how experienced a mage are you looking for? And unlike you, I knew they were smart because they clearly don’t like you!”

Morty smacks him, not hard.

“Morty!” Hasihna hisses, and spins on her heel, backhanding the man.

“Hey! Emilija whirls on Morty threateningly. “What did I say?!” She backhands him as well.

Morty bats his hands. “He’s lying! I didn’t even touch him!” He glowers down at Yugi, who is smiling up at him. “I didn’t even touch you, you fecal drip.”

“And you won’t not touch me again,” Yugi says, smirking.

Morty meets his eyes. “I changed my mind. You can’t come.”

“Who says I wanted to come?!”

“You’ll come if I want you to come, egg slobber!”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think these good kind women whose mothers were favored by the Creator Himself are going to let you shOVE ME AROUND!”

Morty bites his knuckles, muttering multiple curses.

“We certainly aren’t going to let him shove you around anymore,” Emilija says, glaring at Morty, “but we would like it if you came with us.” 

Yugi turns limpid eyes on them. “So how much money are we talking? It’s just...my poor sick mother.”

“Oh, I’m sure she is very ill,” says Hasihna with a small smile. “Y’know, there is a bit of a family resemblance between you and Morty. I do prefer your lies and flattery, though. And if you can show something of value, say like a bit of magic, you’ll be paid fairly. More than you’ll get from pickpocketing on the streets and sweet-talking women, certainly.”

“YOU LIVE WITH ME, YOU LITTLE RAT CHILD,” booms Morty, not paying any attention to Hasihna.

Yugi ignores Morty. “Will I be paid for the demonstration or just if I go with you...wherever you’re going?” He turns to Morty then. “Where  _ are  _ you going? Is this about your stupid silver mines in the east?”

“We’re looking for a mage guide, not a street show, my dear,” Hasihna says gently.

Morty snatches Yugi and covers his mouth with his hand. “No, dear baby child, hush now. You know, I almost think it’s time for your nap, so if I just--” He hauls Yugi off the ground, miming suffocation, “--until we get going, we’ll all be good. Right? Right. Let’s go, ladies!”

Yugi goes limp, rolling his eyes pathetically at Hasihna and Emilija.

“Put him down, Morty.” Emilija moves a step forward in warning.

Morty rolls his eyes and sets Yugi down, but keeps his hand around his collar. “Don’t you dare touch my pockets,” he hisses to the boy.

“I wouldn’t mind if you robbed him blind, Yugi.” Emilija smiles at him. “Now, how about that demonstration?”

Yugi wriggles his shoulders. “I can’t do anything with Morty strangling me,” he whines.

“Morty…”

“Well then,” Hasihna says, “make him take his hand off. This little adventure only pays those good at helping themselves.”

Yugi scowls. “Fine.”

Morty lets go of him. “FINE.”

“Good thing you let go, cuz, or your ancestors’ disappointments would’ve ended here!” He winks. “Not that I’d kill you or anything.”

Morty looks down at Yugi, mutters something unkind, and then goes over to Mahin’s passed out body to rob him.

“We still need proof of your abilities, Yugi. Hasihna’s right; only those who can help themselves get paid.” Emilija produces a silver coin, seemingly from nowhere, and then makes it disappear again. “Show us what you can do.”

Morty mimes slitting a throat a little way off, but no one seems to pay any notice.

Yugi scrubs his arm across his nose and nods once, face set. He plants his feet shoulder-width apart, takes a slow, deep breath, and puts his hands together. He drops them again and says anxiously, “I mean, I’m not...I’m not  _ amazing  _ and I’m not the best at navigating the desert. I-I don’t think I could fight a dragon.”

He shoots a look over his shoulder and adds, “Neither could her, though. Morty, I mean.”

“I’m sure no dragons will be involved, Yugi,” Hasihna says. “Continue.”

He manages a wobbly smile. “I am, I am, don’t worry.” 

Again, he puts his hands together, palm to palm, and then pulls them apart, frowning ferociously. The sand around everyone’s feet stirs. A slow trickle wavers through the air. His fingers curl, as if around an invisible ball, and he begins rotating his hands as if spinning the ball. The trickle wobbles into a tiny tornado, sand particles spitting against their clothes. He holds the tornado for ten seconds and then drops it, flexing his fingers as if they hurt. 

“There! There, see, I did it! I really did it!”

Morty snorts and throws Mahin’s wallet at the boy. “Here, dirt toddler. Hold onto this because I’m noy paying for any milk on the way there.”

Yugi lights up. “So I’m hired? I get the job?”

“Not bad,” says Hasihna, trying not to let her awe show through. “Can you detect water, too?”

“Oh, water’s easy. You just use moonlight and tides and stuff. Or, y’know, walk to the dock.” He flashes them a cheesy grin.

“Yeah, okay, magic baby, hydration, yadda yadda yadda, by the Mother Bear, can we  _ go  _ now?” Morty says.

“Well aren’t you a little smart-mouth,” Hasihna says with a grin, paying no attention to Morty. She turns her head to Emilija and raises an eyebrow. “What do you think? Good enough to join our  _ merry  _ little crew?”

“He can join,” says Emilija. “If only to give me the joy of watching him make Morty froth at the mouth.”

Morty throws his hands in the air and begins to walk away, gesturing for Yugi to follow him. “And this is the thanks I get for buying you coffee. Tick tock, ladies. Tick tock.”

“Wait, you bought  _ them  _ coffee? How come all you’re offering me is milk? I just magicked sand!”

“You’ll grow up short!”

“You’re too young for coffee,” Hasihna adds.

“Oh, good point, I’d hate to look like you when I grow up!” He aims a pout at Hasihna. “Please don’t support him.”

Emilija chuckles. “You want some of mine?”

Hasihna snorts and doesn’t bother hiding her grin. “You’re a right little weasel.”

Morty goes to cuff his head, stops, clenches his fists. “As soon as we get back….,” he mutters threateningly.

Hasihna looks around the alley. “We should get going. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Yugi flashes another grin. “I’ll take the coffee as we walk. What are your names, respected ladies?”

“I’m Emilija.” She hands him the coffee. “That’s Hasihna, and I assume you already know your weasel of a relative. Where are we going next?”

“I do believe we’re following the weasel,” Hasihna says.

“Got any supplies for the desert? Dried meat?” Yugi raises his voice at Morty’s back. “Hey weasel, wanna lead us to the markets?”

Morty doesn’t look back, though his back is tensing up into his neck. He jerks his hand forward and leads them to the marketplace.


	3. Episode Three: The Journey Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet a traveling performer, Yugi falls briefly in love, and Morty tells a tale.

Two hours, much bickering, and not enough haggling later, Emilija succeeds in procuring enough supplies to make leaving the city viable. With a small pack donkey carrying everything (including Yugi, who argues he’s too small to count), the party sets out. They travel for a day and make camp at a tiny oasis Yugi finds for them. The stars shine brightly, a tiny fire flickers at their feet, and the donkey whuffs amiably in the darkness.

Morty takes out a small hookah and puffs the shisha into the night. “What a day. Anyone want a puff?”

“I’m allergic,” says Hasihna flatly.

Morty sucks on the pipe deeply so the water bubbles.

“Yugi, where’s our next destination?” Emilija asks, pointedly ignoring Morty’s antics.

“There’s a small town before we reach Rizawa. A village, really. If we run low on food, we can stop there before we reach Rizawa. I’m hoping we don’t have to stop and we don’t see anybody, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the only people in this stretch of desert are bandits and travelers.”

“What does that make us?” Hasihna says wryly. 

“Traveling bandits,” Morty tells her. “Sexy ones.”

Hasihna clasps her hands behind her head, eyeing him. “Some more so than others, I suppose.”

Morty waggles his eyebrows. “Thank you.”

“I was talking about Emilija.” She turns to Yugi. “So, now that we’re in a proper desert, can you show us some more...tricks?”

“I’m still not very good,” Yugi says bashfully.

“Oh come on,” Emilija urges. “You can show us!”

“Well, it’s better than whatever we could do,” Hasihna reasons. “Which is nothing, so…”

Yugi smiles. “You’re being so nice, I guess I have to.” As before, he puts his palms together, brow furrowed in concentration. A thin wave of sand shifts around their feet. He draws his hands apart. 

The thin wave engulfs the fire, snuffing it.

“Mother’s Bear!” Morty bites out.

“I said I wasn’t good!” Yugi wails. He throws his hands over his head and falls dramatically onto his side, as if he expects a beating.

Morty just puffs on his pipe. “Nice try, piglet. Not going to work twice.”

Hasihna squints her eyes at Morty and his pipe. “If you two are related, does that mean you can do these things also?” she asks, spinning her finger in the air to mimic the flying sand.

Morty narrows his eyes slightly, then puffs. “Not related on the right side.”

A tall woman, dressed in clothes that are much too nice for travelling across the desert, walks up to the group. “Hello there, sorry for interrupting. I was headed to Rizawa, but I seem to have lost my way. Could you give me directions?”

“Bandit or traveler?” Yugi hisses.

Morty smushes his hand against Yugi’s face. “Shush.”

“Just a traveler,” the woman assures him, smiling kindly.

“Depends,” says Hasihna, rising to her feet. “What’s in Rizawa for you?”

“A new audience. I’m a traveling entertainer.”

Morty puffs. “What about a swap? We give you dinner, you give us a show.”

“I believe the lady was asking for directions, not dinner,” Emilija says, raising an eyebrow.

“I was,” affirms the lady.

Morty puffs his shisha in Emilija’s face, smirking. “Who’s to say we can’t give both? I’m a generous person.”

“Ignore him,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Please.”

“Oh, I already was.”

“I like her,” Emilija says to Hasihna. “Yugi, give the nice lady directions, would you?”

Yugi points across the desert. “That way.”

“How far?” asks the lady.

“Yugi, wait,” snaps Hasihna. “How do we know she’s not another hunter? Show first, then directions. Maybe.”

The woman, Zhilan, frowns. “Hunting what?”

“That’s our business.” Hasihna crosses her arms, nodding her chin toward the empty space before the extinguished fire. “Let’s see what you can do, then, if you are a performer.”

“Can one of you provide music?”

Morty sets his hookah aside. “Yugi, give these lovely ladies a beat.”

Yugi starts a rhythmic stomp-clap, his feet muted on the sand.

Morty clears his throat, then meets everyone’s eyes in the darkness. “Ladies,” he says, voice pitched artificially deep. He then begins to whistle through his nose. Every so often his nose whistle will shriek, but mostly nothing comes out.

Yugi stops, looking embarrassed. “What if I just clap a lot?”

Zhilan eyes him disdainfully. “I’m not dancing to that.”

Morty shrugs and picks up his pipe again. “If you think you’ve got more talent than me, by all means, go on.”

“Morty,” Yugi wheedles, “come on! You know at least one song! You sing better when you’re drunk; just pretend you’re drunk.”

“Wish I was drunk,” Morty mutters. “Cursed sand feels like fleas…” He meets Yugi’s gaze and rolls his eyes at the earnest expression. “Fine. Clap louder; you sound like a waterlogged Terasian serpent.”

“The boy sounds fine,” says Zhilan. “You, on the other hand…”

Morty makes a juvenile face at her, then throws down his pipe and begins to sing. His voice is able to hit high notes and the song is upbeat, aided by Yugi’s claps.

Zhilan pulls one of her fans out of her dress and begins to dance, keeping in perfect rhythm with Yugi’s claps and Morty’s song.

Morty finishes his song and sucks on his pipe, choking on some shisha. His eyes water and he coughs. “Fine,” he says. “Pull up a rock, join us for dinner.”

Yugi’s claps scatter from rhythmic to applause.

The corners of Hasihna’s mouth tighten as she tries not to let her amazement show through her frown. She is only halfway successful. “That was good, I guess. Enough for a meal and directions.”

Zhilan sits down, lips pursed. “I brought my own meal. All I asked for was directions, and now a little coin.”

Morty shrugs and begins parceling what was supposed to be Zhilan’s portion between himself and Yugi.

“Coin?” Hasihna’s frown returns.

“I performed for you, didn’t I?”

Yugi shovels the food into his mouth with his hand.

“I don’t give what is not promised.”

“It was implied. I don’t dance for free.”

“Looks like you just did,” Emilija observes. She doesn’t look up from rekindling the fire.

Morty pinches Yugi’s cheek to make him slow down. Then he begins to eat his own portion, watching the women disagree and ignoring the resentful look Yugi shoots at him. Yugi kicks some sand at Morty and resumes eating. Morty pulls Yugi’s ear without even looking at him.

“I am a performer and that is how I make my living,” Zhilan says hotly. “I don’t do this for free, especially not in the middle of the hot desert.”

With a deep scowl, Hasihna slowly withdraws a coin from her pouch and flicks it toward the performer so that it lands in the sand at her feet.

Around a mouth full of food, Yugi asks, “Did you still want directions or just the money.”

Zhilan picks up the coin and pockets it with a curt nod. “Thank you. I still want directions.”

“Oh no,” snaps Hasihna. “She got her coin and Yugi already pointed the way.”

“I can point again,” Yugi says helpfully.

“If you could let me know how far I’ll have to walk in that direction, that would be helpful.”

“No, don’t,” Emilija says, also miffed about having to pay. “You already told her once; she should remember it.”

Yugi blinks. “I-I just pointed. I didn’t say anything like three days’ walk but you’ll pass a little village and another oasis before you reach Rizawa. Or that bandits prowl this part and sometimes dragons, and pretty ladies walking alone might die.” He bats his eyes.

“I’ll look the other way if you want to beat him,” Morty informs the group languidly, ignoring Yugi’s squawk.

“Yugi,” says Hasihna reproachfully, a little harsher than intended. “That is more than enough.”

Zhilan smiles. “Thank you, Yugi, you’ve been very helpful.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to travel on your own out here?” Emilija asks suspiciously. “What are you going to do if you run into bandits? Walk up and ask them for directions, pretty please?”

“You just danced so prettily,” Yugi says to Zhilan.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Hasihna says, ignoring Yugi. “She can just pull out those little fans again and distract them.”

Morty rolls his eyes heavily at Yugi. “Amateur,” he mutters.

“I know how to take care of myself just fine, don’t worry,” Zhilan assures Yugi.

“How?” he asks eagerly.

“Now why would I tell you that? For all I know, you could be a group of bandits and thieves.” She smiles slyly at him.

“We’re just traveling!” Yugi protests.

She laughs. “That’s what all thieves would say.

He wraps his arms around his knees and pouts up at her. “I’m too little to be a thief. Morty says so.”

Morty snorts and tugs on Yugi’s ear half-heartedly.

“Oh, I’ve seen smaller thieves,” Zhilan says.

“You would know about thieves,” Morty says to Zhilan. “Do you often steal hearts, or just mine?” He grins.

“He’s finally turned his attentions on someone else, thank goodness,” Emilija mutters to Hasihna.

Zhilan looks down her nose at Morty. “If you try anything with me, you will regret it.”

He decides to respond to Emilija, rather than Zhilan. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

“Yeah,” Emilija returns, narrowing her eyes. “I just have to chop you into little pieces first. What do you say, Hasi? Should we do that right now?”

“Hasi doesn’t need any more trouble,” Morty says. He offers her the other part of Zhilan’s erstwhile meal. “Here.”

Emilija looks down at it. “What?”

“Split it with Hasi. Miss Fan over here has her own meal.”

She takes it, squints threateningly in his direction, but ends up doing what Morty says.

Zhilan does, in fact, bring her own meal out of her pack and begin eating.

Morty hands over the rest of his meal to Yugi and smokes his hookah. “Yugi,” he says, pointing up at the sky, “there’s that constellation I was telling you about. See, ya little brat? You can see it away from the city lights.”

“The Naked Lady?” Yugi asks.

Morty pinches Yugi’s side. “Remind me to smack your dirty little friend Dijali. No, piglet, the Basket Weaver.”

“Ow, don’t touch me! Who cares about the stupid Basket Weave--ooh, I see it! Those four stars are the top of the basket, right?”

“Mmhmm.” He sets down his pipe and sighs up at the stars. “Granula ever tell you the story behind it?”

“No, she just smacked my head and told me to leave her buns alone.” Smirking, he adds, “The bread, that is.”

Morty raises his hand as if to smack him, then rolls his eyes and flops back. “Figures she wouldn’t. Don’t know why I pay her. All right, shut up and listen. ‘Long before the earth broke and the waters separated us, there lived a tribe. This tribe lived in chaos and agony, blood seeping against the caves, children swimming through the corpses of the past.’”

“Ew,” Yugi whispers.

“Yeah,” Morty says, yanking Yugi down to lay next to him. “Lots of blood and guts.”

Yugi wiggles around to plant his head in Morty’s stomach and settles in to listen.

“‘Death and fear and blood and tears, that was all they knew. And the earth began to mourn. Fires spat from the mountains, desecrating towns. The Great Spirit wept from the sky, drowning valleys.’”

“Cheery,” Emilija comments.

“‘Soon the tribe was on its knees, praying for reprieve. They offered sacrifices to the Great Spirit. They offered tears. They offered fear. They offered blood. And they offered death. But still the Great Spirit grieved.’”

Hasihna slowly sits down beside Emilija, pointedly not looking at Zhilan, and stares into the fire while Morty speaks.

“What kind of death?” Yugi asks, awed.

“Really?” Morty asks, looking down at him. “That’s what you focus on? I’m trying to impart knowledge here, piglet.”

“I’m trying to get more knowledge!”

“Child sacrifice, which is how you’re going to end up.”

Yugi lays a hand across his own mouth and stays quiet.

Morty lays a hand on Yugi’s head absentmindedly. “‘The Great Spirit grieved, and the world grieved with it. But still the tribe would not change. Soon the land dried up. It was naught but ash. There was nothing to eat.

‘Still they fought, killing over mere stalks. And yet there was one field, far and away into the mountains, that did not wither. In that field lived a woman. Her family was no more, and I’m sure you know why.’”

Yugi hums, but he doesn’t say anything out loud.

“‘The last strong members of the tribe dragged themselves into the mountain. They saw the woman, they saw the food, and wanted to kill her. But then she spoke strange words: “Red, blue, green, yellow. Red, blue, green, yellow.”

‘They stopped and watched her hands move over her lap, entranced by the motion. And all the while she spoke, “Red, blue, green, yellow.”

‘The tribal members, mere children, asked her what she was doing. They wanted their curiosity quenched before killing her. “Woman,” they shouted across the field, “why do you speak so?”

“Red, blue, green, yellow,” hummed the woman, hands arcing over and over her lap.

‘The children stepped closer. “Woman!” they shouted. “You are near death! Tell us and we’ll spare you!”

“Red, blue, green, yellow.”

‘The children now were behind her. “Woman,” they whispered. “We are hungry and we are alone. We are afraid. Why do you speak so?”

‘The orphan woman looked up, eyes shadowed and sightless. “Hungry, alone, and afraid. Those are good names for those who wish to eat in my field. Take what you want, but be sure to return. I will send you with something for your way back.”

‘The tribe children shot out to the field, grabbing every fruit and vegetable from every vine. They did not gnash their teeth at each other; they did not kill. Instead, they took what their arms could carry, and then took what others’ arms could not. Finally, they returned to the woman. They gazed at each other, discussing silently if they should murder her.’”

He nudges Yugi. “What would you have done? Yugi?”

The boy is asleep. Morty huffs and looks up at the sky.

He continues softly, “‘“Before you shed my blood,” said the woman, seeing in their hearts what her eyes could not, “listen to my words. Red, blue, green, yellow.”

“We heard that before,” they protested. “You’ve said it many times!”

“You heard,” said the woman, “but you did not understand. Watch.” And with her hands, she took a strip of vine and curved it. “Red, for the blood of the family.” She curved another strip. “Blue, for the tears of the sky.” Another strip. “Green, for the earth we have burned. And yellow,” she curved the last strip, “for the hope of tomorrow’s sun.”

‘And with those words, she presented something to them, something that could carry their burdens down the mountain: a basket.

‘The children took the basket down the mountain. But their hearts were changed. When they reached their tribe, they bowed their heads and offered something to the Great Spirit. 

“Red,” they said, “for the blood of the family. Blue, for the tears of the sky. Green, for the earth we have burned. And yellow, for the hope of tomorrow’s sun.”

‘The people shouted and moved to kill the children, to offer them to the Great Spirit, but the earth shook and the sky flashed and the ocean splashed against the land. And they knew, suddenly, what they had done. From that point on, the tribe did not fight and did not kill. Instead, they traveled and twined vines, muttering to themselves, “Red, blue, green, yellow. Red, blue, green, yellow.” That tribe is known as the Umanaja, and that is why they wear baskets on their heads. They pray for forgiveness that their ancestors have wrought.’

“That’s the story, anyways,” Morty concludes. “It’s sort of dumb. I’m not even sure I told it right. Just kidding. I’m amazing. I know everything. Breathe in your sleep if you agree with me. Aha! You do. I win.”

He brushes Yugi’s hair out of his face, frowning at the grains of sand stuck to the boy’s cheeks. “Dirty piglet,” he sniffs. But he doesn’t remove his hand from the boy’s head. He looks up at the stars. “A dumb story.”

“You’re a good storyteller,” Hasihna says softly from across the fire, her eyes closed. “I wouldn’t have guessed it, but you are.”

Morty makes a soft sound, but doesn’t respond. He rests his chin on Yugi’s head. “Goodnight, Hasi.”

Zhilan smiles softly at the end of Morty’s story and turns in for bed as well.


End file.
